


serendipity

by orphan_account



Series: dorks of the universe [1]
Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, First Time, Hand Jobs, Identity Porn, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Minor John Deacon/Veronica Tetzlaff, Oral Sex, Period-Typical Homophobia, Roger Taylor (Queen) Being an Idiot, Touring, not with john and roger though, only mentioned - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:01:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24070045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: serendipity (n.); finding luck without even looking for it–Roger is having a dilemma, and John isn't helping.Mainly because John is Roger's dilemma.
Relationships: John Deacon/Roger Taylor
Series: dorks of the universe [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1736509
Comments: 14
Kudos: 58





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, this is a two parter that is also part of a series that I'm starting.
> 
> Roger is a dick in this, I'm so sorry.

**1974**

It was after a concert on their first tour of the UK one night that Freddie, Roger, John, and Brian found themselves in a lowkey, yet bustling club to celebrate their show. The concert had gone amazingly – Freddie captured the crowd with his energy, and the audience loved it. Roger was ecstatic that he got a lot of attention from the fans, despite Freddie’s presence. However, there is one person whose attention towards Roger has him flustered – and slightly irritated.

It was John Deacon’s sporadic, gentle looks towards the man in question from across the room that most definitely began to turn Roger the hell on, and he isn’t sure what might happen to John if he keeps looking at the blond for too much longer in such a manner – sexual or otherwise. John’s wide, sparkling gray eyes, slightly clouded over from alcohol, are haunting him from across the room with that look that Roger knows has a deeper meaning to him than they do to John. It’s so sensual that Roger feels his dick twitch if he stares back for too long. The low lights of the room and the _annoying_ disco music (that Roger hated, but he knew John loved) had him inconsolable for sex at this point.

It was usually _women_ who look at Roger this way, when they want to be fucked – _fucked by Queen’s drummer, of all people._ Roger _does_ love it, he is a horny, young lad for god’s sake. He’s ripe and youthful at the age of twenty-four, and fucks any woman he can get into his bed without hesitation. When he is with a random woman from a pub, he usually takes her to whatever hotel the band is staying in that night, or even back to his flat if they aren’t touring. He’ll most likely have them kicked out by the next morning, anyway. Roger is _good_ at sex with women. He knows exactly where he should put his hands and his mouth, and he knows all of the positions that can leave a girl in tears from how hard she came. He is _good_ at that. Not many men are, so he takes a lot of pride in being able to get most women to orgasm and finish beneath him.

On the other hand, Roger has never been with a man, in any fashion.

Hell, he hasn’t even humored the idea, up until lately. Three years ago started Roger’s dilemma of questioning his sexuality, with _John_ joining the band (even though they needed it). They had gone through half a dozen god _awful_ bass players, and were beginning to get desperate. John was, to put it simply, a miracle.

Now as they were beginning their first tour of the UK, the band has spent more time together than ever. Roger and John were the youngest, and so they usually got along the best, so they spent more time together, giggling about juvenile shit when Fred and Brian were having some petty argument. Not to mention that they were the rhythm section, _the Sonic Volcano,_ so they couldn’t just _not_ communicate.

Over time, Roger came to notice how, _feminine_ John tended to be. Roger _looked_ more like a woman, but John has the characteristics–and the style–of a _dainty lady_ , to Roger. Between John’s platform heels that he always wore, and his _tight_ pants that showed off just the right curves of his ass when John was dancing and spinning around on the drum risers during shows, could anyone blame Roger for being, ahem, _confused?_

Oh god, he needed to get laid.

Here and now in this pub, Roger needed to find a quick shag to get his mind off of his increasing issue with his growing infatuation. A shag with a female. _He was not fucking gay, and especially not for John fucking Deacon._

Roger looked back at the man in question, who was staring at him again. When John noticed Roger’s look, the brunet smiled kindly at the drummer and took a sip of his drink. He soon went back to his conversation with whatever random lad he was conversing with.

Roger gritted his teeth together, and began a scan of the room. Soon enough, Roger found a brunette that seemed more than interested in getting laid. She had on a tight, dark blue dress and wedge platforms that made her legs look amazing. She was lounging at the bar with another girl, and was giggling loosely at something that her friend was saying. Roger approached the scene, setting down his empty glass on a nearby table.

“Hey sweetheart,” Roger started, placing a hand on her shoulder. “What are you drinking?”

The woman had been staring at him all night, although her gaze had nothing on John’s. Roger lightly scowled, he did _not_ want to be thinking about John when he was trying to get laid. Her bright blue eyes were pretty, and she had dark eyelashes that brushed her cheeks when she blinked. He turned his attention back to the woman for her answer. “A Martini,” she answered. Then she paused, “I’m Julie. You’re the drummer from that band?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Roger smiled coyly at Julie, he knows that he won’t remember her name by tomorrow. “Yes, love,” he answered, smiling his best charming smile, motioning at the bartender for two martinis – _dry_ . “Did you go to the concert?” Julie shook her head, as the bartender set down their drinks. Roger sipped his Martini slowly, and slipped another look at John. He was laughing with a different man that Roger didn’t recognize. _Probably a fan,_ Roger thought to himself sourly. _Was John fucking teasing him? No. Fuck. John didn’t even know what he was fucking doing._

They drank and drank, until they were both slurring their words. Roger more so than Julie, for he wanted to get wasted enough that he forgot about the _man_ that he really didn’t want to be thinking about at this moment.

Brian and their managers always wanted the boys to promote their shows, so he looked back at the woman quickly, slurring his words again as he spoke. “Well, maybe you could come to a concert soon. We’re touring, so there’d be plenty of dates–” Roger began, but Julie quickly interrupted him.

“Or maybe,” she started, scooting close to Roger and placing a delicate hand on his thigh, “you could give me a _private_ show.”

That’s all the confirmation Roger needed to grab her hand and lead her outside. He waved down a cab, which were not hard to find in whatever city they were currently in. Honestly, Roger has lost count by this point, and couldn’t give any fucks. There was a brief moment where he thought of John, and how he was leaving without saying goodbye. _No, fuck that. John is playing fucking games, and it’s pathetic._

Roger and Julie sloppily made out the entire way back to the hotel, just like hormonal teenagers. Roger had her pinned to the side of the interior of the car, and was feverishly kissing and biting and licking on all of the hot skin his mouth could reach. Soon he placed a hand on her smooth face to keep her in place. His tongue danced with her’s, and she moaned lowly into his mouth. His other hand was on the side of her while both of hers were deep in his starkly bleached long hair. He could feel her writhing beneath him the entire way back to the hotel.

When they made it to Roger’s room, he fumbled clumsily with the key, but made it inside. Roger inwardly blamed that on his drunkenness. He kicked the door to a close once they were inside and pushed Julie against the wall in the corridor, his hands holding up her arms above her head against the wall as he kissed her feverishly again. Julie squirmed and pulled to the side, breaking their kiss. “Roger,” she whined to him, “not so rough?”

This just pissed off the drunken man even more. Not _rough?_ Didn’t she know that he just wanted a warm body to get off? Jesus fuck. Roger gritted his teeth, and Julie looked back at him, seemingly unfazed.

“Alright, baby,” he forced out a whisper, bringing her to the crappy hotel bed. He didn’t want to be gentle. He didn’t want this to be whispering of sweet nothings, making of love until dawn. This was a fast and easy fuck, goddamnit.

He needed to forget. Fucking forget.

His dick was half hard, even though he was rutting against the woman like his life depended on it. Shit. Julie’s moans were getting loud and obnoxious at this point, too high pitched. Was she a fucking _mouse?_ He wanted deeper, fuller moans that left his body _vibrating._ Her hands were roaming his body now, and she swiftly pulled off his tight shirt.

Roger could feel her hands through his trousers, getting his cock harder as she rubbed it through the fabric. _Finally._

“Come on babe,” Julie groaned – no, _whined,_ attempting to pull off her own dress over her head.

Roger looked right at her, squinting his eyes. “Shut up,” he practically growled. “You want me to fuck you, bitch? Then let’s _fuck,_ Jesus.”

This seemed to take her by surprise, because she finally didn’t say anything else. Roger pulled off her blue dress, ripping it slightly at the hem, and kissed down her breasts to her navel. Juilie wasn’t wearing a bra, and it’s probably best, because Roger probably would have torn that too.

Roger usually wasn’t this aggressive with any of the women he brought back, but he didn’t want to talk, he just wanted to get off.

To _his_ surprise, however, he found his knuckles white from how hard he was holding Julie’s arms down by her sides. She was shaking, not looking him in the eyes as he looked back up at her face. Her lipstick was smudged badly and her mascara was clumpy from the manhandling of her face in the car earlier. He didn’t even know he was even holding her down.

_Fuck._

Roger let go of Julie’s arms slowly to see two, hand shaped red marks on both forearms. He leaned away and sat on the edge of the foot of the bed, seeing in his peripheral vision Julie reach for her arms to rub at them. 

It was silent for a while, and when Julie tried to say something, an apology, maybe, Roger looked at her sternly. _Why was she going to fucking apologize?_

“Go home, Josie,” Roger muttered, tossing her dress towards her from where she sat.

She stood up, taking the item of clothing. “It’s Julie,” she corrected, but it was barely a whisper. She pulled on her dress over her head and adjusted it, slowly moving towards the door.

“Leave,” Roger snapped, and with that, the woman was gone, leaving Roger angry and sexually frustrated.

_What else was fucking new?_ He thought to himself, letting out an angry groan as he laid down against the firm, creaky mattress.

A knock on the door sounded, and Roger cursed to himself as he walked to the door to tell whoever was on the other side to fuck off so he could have some privacy. Masturbation was never his favorite means of getting off, but it would have to do. His cock was half hard and he had scared off a woman by being a dick, so he would have to rely on his right hand that night.

Roger opened the door, still shirtless and flushed, “Listen, I’m – Deaky?” his blue eyes widened, almost excited to see the man. _Almost._

John smiled sheepishly – that shy, naive fucker. Jesus fuck. It could have been anyone else, _anyone._

Roger’s anger flared up even more at the thought. “Fuck off, John.”

John was not as surprised as he predictably would’ve been by Roger’s outburst, and his smile quickly dissipated into a tight grimace. “No Roger, fuck _you,"_ he countered, pushing past Roger’s bare chest and into his room. “Did you do anything to that woman?”

Roger followed John with his eyes as he brushed past him, but then looked down sheepishly at John’s question. “It’s really none of your business, Deaky,” the blond insisted quietly.

“No, Roger!” John boomed. _Boomed._ Roger has never heard Deaky so angry – or loud – in the four years that they have known each other. John took a deep breath. “I’m sorry for yelling.” Leave it to John to apologize for being loud when he had every right to be yelling as much as he wanted to. “I just see a woman sprint out of your room, on the edge of tears, and I –” he stopped there for a moment, before continuing, quieter this time. “Did you not get her consent, Roger?” John asked, his question almost inaudible.

Roger was taken aback by the query. _What the fuck?_ “Deaky, we didn’t even have sex,” he insisted as he shut the door and turned to face John, his eyes probably squinting in confusion. “I just, wasn’t fucking _gentle_ enough for her liking.” Roger practically spit out the last part.

“Rog,” John started, shaking his head. “You can’t do that. She has feelings too. _People_ have feelings too, whether or not you care about them.”

Roger scoffed, walking past John to sit on the hotel bed. He didn’t want to fucking hear _this_ lecture right now, he just wanted to jack off and fall asleep.

“What is _up_ with you, Rog?” Deaky asked, almost begging for an answer. _Roger wanted him to beg for something else instead._

Roger looked up at him, bright blue eyes meeting Deaky’s pale silver ones. “No, that’s just rich coming from you,” Roger asserted at him, pointing a finger. His hands were calloused all over from drumming so much, and a new technique he had been using had made some blisters bloom on his palms.

John furrowed his eyebrows and crossed his arms, obviously defensive. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

The blond cackled and jibed again, “Supposed to _mean?_ Deaks, you’ve been making heart eyes at me all night.” Then, Roger paused before saying, “Why the fuck do you even think I was so angry? My mate eye fucking me when he knows I’m not a goddamn fairy, and I’m not supposed to get angry? Fuck you, John. This is _your fault.”_

It was quiet for a moment, until John started to laugh humorlessly. Roger has always loved John’s laugh, and so has everyone that’s ever met him. It was hard not to laugh along with him, except for this moment. “Roger,” John started, uncrossing his arms. “You think this is my fault?”

Roger had no words, that wasn’t the reaction he was expecting.

“I wasn’t coming on to you, Roger, and even if it was, this isn’t _my_ fault. Take responsibility for your actions.”

With that, John turned around and headed for the door, fully intending to leave.

Roger hesitated for a moment before making up his mind. “John, wait! Deaks,” he got up and rushed over to John, pushing the door closed with his back, getting in front of John and ending up face to face. “That was – um – that was out of line. I am not blaming you, I just—“ Roger paused, and John took his hand off the door handle, but didn’t take a step back. “I just am _really_ frustrated. _Sexually,”_ Roger cringed at his own words, he didn’t want to do this, but at the same time he didn’t want John hating him. “God, and having you look at me like that, whether you meant it or not, it fucking affected me. I just need someone. Anyone. This tour has fucking messed with me.”

John chuckled dryly to himself. “Sorry that you aren’t having sex every night like you’re _used to,_ Roger. Can I go now?”

Roger was still drunk, despite the sobering experiences of the last ten minutes, so he eventually blamed what came out of his mouth next on that fact.

“No! I’m not just covering my ass on this. No. Deaks, I want that someone to be you, I think.”

No one said anything for a minute.

“Is this a joke, Rog?” Deaky asked quietly, looking down as he held his arms close to his chest.

Roger sighed and looked up, avoiding all eye contact. “No, fuck. It’s _embarrassing_ because now I realized why I thought you were looking at me like that,” he explained, and looked back at John the minute that he looked up, finally really looking into each other's eyes. “Because I _wanted_ you to be.”

_What the fuck was he saying? What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck? It was the hormones. Yeah, it was the hormones,_ Roger thought to himself rapidly.

Before John could respond, Roger decided, _fuck all consequences,_ and pressed his lips to his, holding the back of John’s neck. They kissed for a few seconds, and John seemed to kiss back for just a microsecond before pulling back slowly. “Roger,” John breathed, bringing his hands to the other man’s arms to bring them closer. They stared at each other’s faces, and John’s lips were wet and pink, and oh, so kissable, _again._

“I’m not a fucking faggot, Deaks, but–” Roger cut himself off before he could talk about what he felt, John just nodded.

“I know, Roger,” he murmured before kissing him again, harder this time, pressing Roger up against the door. They parted their lips every so slightly, and a noise of satisfaction came from Roger’s throat as he thought about what it would be like to lick into John’s pretty little mouth. His bottom lip was in between John’s lips as they kissed, and John opened his mouth slightly and–

_–bit down on Roger’s lip. Not in the sexy way._

Roger pulled away, hissing in pain. “Fuck! John Richard _fucking_ Deacon,” he growled as he reached for his mouth and pulled away, shoving John off him and heading to his bed to sit down once again. He was still holding his mouth and his jaw was clenched. When he moved his hand, it was covered with blood, along with his lip, which dripped down to his chin. “Haven’t you fucking kissed someone before?!”

“Yes, actually, you, entitled _dick,”_ John nodded, but he smiled brightly. “That was for what you did to that girl, and also for blaming it on me,” he noted with another single nod of his head.

Roger was taken aback by that, and wiped at his mouth, seeing that the blood had already started to clot. “Deaky,” he tried to reconcile, looking up at the brunet.

John shook his head and got closer to Roger, straddling his hips to sit on his lap. “You’ve lost your ‘Deaky’ privileges until you’ve made me come,” John murmured, leaning down to kiss openly below Roger’s ear.

Roger moaned softly and leaned into the kiss. He began to unbutton John’s shirt, pulling it off his shoulders and watching it fall to the floor. John’s lithe body seemed to get closer to Roger’s as he was pushed onto the bed with John still on top of him.

Now Roger’s cock was perfectly hard, and he rutted up against John’s hip, to seek some kind of friction, some kind of release, _something._

“Oh, god, John,” Roger breathed, the desperate ting of his voice clear as day. He undid his own trousers, pushing them down as far as he could.

John kissed and licked and _sucked_ Roger’s skin all the way from his neck, down to his naval. He took his _sweet_ time, because why wouldn’t he?

He left hickeys and love bites almost like a trail, making sure to be very thorough to _mark_ Roger, not hesitating to relish in the cries and groans that the blond was shamelessly making. When John got down to Roger’s waistband, he pulled down Roger’s underwear and watched at Roger’s erection sprang free, and it was obvious that he was _aching._

“John, oh god, get the fuck on with it, fuck,” Roger whined. John crookedly grinned and said nothing.

John pulled off the remaining items of clothing that Roger had on, leaving him as naked as the day he was born, and kissed into his upper inner thighs, now situated between Roger’s legs. Roger let out another desperate groan, and then it fucking happened – what Roger had been looking forward to for the longest time, and he didn’t even know it.

John licked up the shaft of the erect penis in front of him, _frustratingly slow._ Roger moaned in time with John’s movement, and curled his hands in the brunet’s long hair.

John continued licking Roger’s cock, paying close attention to the sensitive head, before sensually wrapping his wet lips around it and experimentally bobbing his head down once, so _damn slowly,_ and grabbing the base of the dick with his hand, and using the other to hold down Roger’s hip.

“Oh, babe, _oh, baby,"_ Roger groaned, but it was so animalistic and guttural, that it barely sounded like words. Roger’s usually unassuming higher voice was practically unrecognizable as he tightened his grip in John’s hair.

John let out a soft moan at the feeling, sending vibrations rattling from his mouth onto Roger’s dick and into his body.

“Suck, Deaky, suck my fucking cock,” Roger ordered, breathlessly. He wanted it to sound dominant and demanding, but it just sounded like an unassuming whisper.

John listened anyway, applying suction as he began to bob his head a few more times, and twisting his hand around the base in time with his own movements. When he needed a breath, he would pull up, but not all the way off, and lick and kiss at the cock’s swollen head, rubbing up and down at the shaft with his hand before going back down to suck. He tried to take it deeper down his throat each time, but he only got so far before he almost gagged.

When Roger felt himself hit the back of John’s throat, he let out a pleasured gasp, and his back arched off the mattress for a second or two. “Yes, _yes!_ Fucking –” Roger cut off his words with a moan that seemed much too high for his liking, but honestly he couldn’t care less, and grabbed more of the other man’s long hair, pulling it like his life depended on it, which seemed to just urge Deaky on. When John started using his _tongue_ –

Oh fuck, Roger was a goner.

It didn’t take long before Roger was on the verge of coming, and with John bobbing his head at such an _ungodly_ fast pace, he knew that John was ready for it.

“Oh, shit, Deaks, look at me,” Roger said between his wanton moans, earning eye contact from the man whose mouth was around his dick. Roger wanted to keep looking at John forever, into his eyes. “Deaky, _John, John,_ I’m coming, oh god, John – fuck.”

With that, Roger was spilling his hot semen in John’s mouth, moaning loudly through his orgasm. It didn’t take long for Roger to finish due to his sexually frustrating evening, but the build up made the release _so_ intense, he felt like he was having the longest orgasm in the world.

John was holding onto the base of the dick, which was now twitching in his mouth from the release. He was swallowing as much as he could while milking Roger through the rest of his orgasm by gently jacking him off, taking in mind the likelihood of the sensitivity of Roger’s dick at the moment.

“That’s it, John,” Roger moaned breathlessly, beginning to come down. “Swallow it for me.”

John did just that, swallowing most of the ejaculate, and he grimaced at the taste. With the drops that had spilled down his chin, he looked Roger straight in the eye and wiped it off with his thumb, and then licked it off of that, making Roger’s eyes grow impossibly wide. “You little shit,” he murmured tiredly before letting go of John’s hair and relaxing into the pillows, pulling his arms over his face as he tried to control his heavy breathing.

It was silent for a moment as John crawled up beside the blond, resting on his side, just looking at him with sweet, glistening eyes. “Are you alright, Rog?”

Roger pulled his hands down his face, lip still tender from where it was bitten earlier, and rested them on his chest. “Am I –” he closed his eyes for a minute, before opening them and turning his head towards his friend. “Yeah, I’m alright, mate.”

John had a small, satisfied smile plastered on his lips, that were now red and swollen from their previous activities. “Am I supposed to go wank one off in the loo, or something?” He asked sassily, rolling to lay flat on his back.

The other man’s eyes widened even more at that statement. John had given him such an intense orgasm, that he, ironically, forgot about him. He rolled over on his side, this time, and frowned. “No way, not after that stunt that you just pulled,” Roger insisted, reaching down to unbutton John’s jeans and pull them off.

John’s pale face flushed deeply at the action, and for a microsecond, Roger couldn’t tell why.

Then, he _could_ tell why, as he glanced down at John’s groin.

“Ah, commando, are we, Deaks?” he teased, glancing down at the erect cock that was already visible to them both.

John avoided eye contact. “Pant make lines on my trousers,” he explained quietly.

Oh, of course, the _unnecessarily_ tight trousers that haunted Roger each day. Those ones.

Roger wasted no time laughing quietly and quickly spitting wetly into his own hand, and even sucking on his fingers, like he would do for himself. He reached down in between them and grabbed a hold of John’s very hard dick and spread around the bead of precome that had formed on the tip. He wished that he had lube or lotion or _something_ so he could give John something more than an amateur handjob, especially after the amazing head he just received.

He gingerly wrapped his hand around John’s dick, and breathed shallowly.

“You don’t have to do this, Rog,” John suggested, noticing Roger’s hesitance.

The blond glared up at John. “I’m doing this.”

He just didn’t know how. Was it like… jacking off, but it was another guy?

He supposed that was the case, and he began stroking John’s cock up and down, squeezing just enough to rip a groan out of the man.

Roger seemed to be doing okay despite his weariness, because John moaned out loud. Not as loudly as Roger, which was to be expected. Roger was already noisy in bed, and Deaky was so shy that he barely made any noise as it was.

“Rog,” John breathed, looking up at Roger under long, dark eyelashes, obviously in immense pleasure.

Roger started jacking him faster as he responded, “Yeah?”

John moaned again, bit louder this time. “Kiss – oh, _god,_ Rog. Kiss me.”

Roger didn’t hesitate to press their lips together and have John moan against him.

In the end, they just had their mouths open slackly against each other, and were savagely using their tongues to do particularly filthy things to one another.

Soon, though, John whined, _whined,_ against Roger’s mouth. “Faster, just like that…” he requested quietly. If Roger wasn’t right there, he wouldn't have heard him, most likely. He felt Deaky’s hips thrust lazily into his hand, and it wasn’t long before his pelvis stuttered in time with his own moans.

“Ah!” An almost high pitched squeak came from the undone man, having Roger quickly jerk his eyes up to look at John, to see if he was hurting him. However, that only lasted for a second.

John, for the first time that night, let out a _loud,_ unmistakable moan. “Oh, Rog, I’m close,” he muttered, and not before long it was an, “Ah, I’m there, I’m _there_ , Roger,” accompanied by low noises of pleasure that made Roger want to kiss him through his orgasm, so he did.

John spilled over his own flat stomach and Roger’s hand, coating both of them in white, sticky come. His hips ceased their movements, and Roger didn’t wait to remove his hand from John’s now softening cock and wipe it against the bedsheets.

Their foreheads were pressed together for the longest time, it seemed, before John sat up and pulled on his pants, doing them up.

Roger sat up as well, alarmed. “Are you _leaving?_ ” he asked the brunet incredulously.

John gave him a side eye, shrugging. “Uh, yeah, my room is down the hall,” he said, pointing towards the door. “Plus, I need to shower.”

Roger recoiled into himself, slightly embarrassed at his outburst. He suddenly felt his nakedness on full blast. “Alright. Hey,” he began, sitting up on the bed and looking at the other man. “I’m sorry for being such a dick tonight,” he said, begrudgingly.

John half smiled and shook his head. “You _were_ a jerk. This better help out your angsty drumming. I don’t just give out blowjobs for free,” John joked, pulling on his shirt and beginning to button it up.

That made Roger frown, and he licked his split lip. “You’ve done that before?”

“Only once, way back in the day, could have still been the sixties. I mostly just winged it based on what Veronica does,” he explained as he finished with his buttons, leaving the top three undone.

The mention of John’s girlfriend almost made Roger shit himself. _Fuck._

“She won’t find out about this,” Roger asked, however it sounded more like a command.

“Um,” John’s features flushed red, again. “No. Tour rules. What happens on tour, stays on tour.”

That was how it always had been. The women back home knew not to ask about the tour, and the band knew not to talk about it with them.

“Right,” Roger awkwardly concluded, before stupidly adding, “You know, this doesn’t mean I like blokes. I just like getting off.”

If John were any less tired, he would have read into that some more, but instead, he just replied with an, “Okay.”

They existed together in silence for about thirty seconds. The awkward kind.

“Freddie and Brian aren’t finding out either.”

_"I_ won’t be the one snitching,” John bit back, but he kept the tone playful. “Besides, even if they did somehow find us out, I doubt Fred would mind.”

Roger frowned in confusion as he watched John go to the door. “What is that supposed to mean?” he asked out loud.

“Goodnight, Roger,” John swiftly said, and Roger watched as he left the hotel room and closed the door behind him.

He thought about what he just did as he laid back down, the bed squeaking under him. His dick was still sensitive from his previous activities, and he sighed loudly up to the ceiling.

Oh, he was so royally fucked.


	2. two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> Note: this is a series! I will be posting more works to the Love of My Life series that revolves around Roger and our Deaky boy.

It was almost ten before Roger awoke the next morning, still naked from the previous night’s activities. For a moment in his hazy, hungover brain, he was wondering where the girl he shagged had gone. He recalled having one of the best orgasms of his life, and knew that someone was with him.

Then, Roger remembered.

The sweaty, _amazing_ glow from last night.

The _unbelievable release_ that he had achieved with the help of–

–John.

_Fuck._

Roger quickly sat up in the hotel bed, _too fast_ , placing his hand beside him on the mattress to balance himself before he toppled over, and where he caught himself, he felt splotches of dried cum from the night before. The slight headache that he sported came along with the full on _dread_ that, _Oh my god, Roger had in fact fucked his bandmate._

Well, not _fucked_. Trading a blowjob for a handjob wasn’t as drastic as _real_ sex, but it was still a shock to Roger’s system, so he _was_ going to be dramatic about this.

Deaky couldn’t tell anyone. Freddie couldn’t find out, Brian couldn’t find out, and _Jesus,_ if the public found out, Miami would have a _shit_ storm.

As he trudged out of the crappy bed and into the equally as crappy bathroom, he was slowly starting to become more and more panicked. He took a piss, looking up the entire time (he just couldn’t look at his dick right now), and then turned on the shower and immediately got in, probably too excited to wash the night’s activities off of him.

He still felt _sticky_ and _gross_ , but he didn’t feel unpleasant, or internally disgusted, which scared him more than anything. Why did he _not_ hate it? Yeah, John was more feminine than the average man. (Platform heels tend to do that to some people.) However, he was still a _bloke,_ he still had a dick. The thought sent Roger shivering under the stream.

The water wasn’t cold, but it wasn’t too warm, either.

Roger tried to get his mind off of _it_. He had soundcheck in an hour and he couldn’t walk in looking at John like an obsessed schoolgirl, or, conversely, like a timid chihuahua.

***

When Roger finally made it to the venue, the overcast that he saw in the taxi made him feel even shittier. He wasted no time grabbing some sticks and heading towards his kit, which the roadies had already set up. _Thank god,_ Roger thought bitterly. He was not in the mood for putting a drum kit together because some _roadies_ didn’t know what the hell they were doing.

Before he could sit down on his drum stool, Brian called out to him on the other side of the stage. “Cheers, Roger, you made it,” he joked.

Roger just glared back, and obnoxiously beat on his snare a couple times. He could see John in his peripheral vision on the downstage right side of the stage, tuning his own bass to make sure the mics would catch it properly. Before Roger could realize he was staring, Brian spoke again.

“Maybe you should tighten up your toms, Rog, the roadies put them on,” Brian noted, staring down at his own guitar, not even _glancing_ in Roger’s direction. Brian _was_ a control freak sometimes, which was fine, the band needed someone to keep them in line, but sometimes Brian started more problems than he did resolve them.

Roger nodded, hitting his tom toms a few times to make sure their beat was right on. “Thanks, Brian,” he muttered, tightening up a tom tom on his left.

Freddie was absent from the soundcheck for the first ten minutes, and Brian was getting irritated at the fact that they didn’t have their main vocalist. He was throwing an adult tantrum, complaining loudly and stomping around, and now would be about the time where Roger and John would laugh at him together while Brian was too caught up in his own antics. However, Roger wouldn’t even look towards John today. Was it _shame_ that kept Roger from glancing at his friend? Maybe. Was it anger? That seemed more likely. Not at John, but at himself. 

Before he could pout any more about his fragile masculinity, John sauntered over to the drum kit, stepping up on the risers. “Brian really is being a shit today, huh?” he mused to Roger conversationally. This would have been been a _normal_ interaction, but…

Roger couldn’t help but not see his friendship with John as _normal_ , anymore.

Roger glanced over at him, and they locked eyes for a split second before Roger cringed at himself and looked away. “Yeah, Freddie should hurry up and get here.”

John sighed and hopped off the drum risers. He could tell Roger was being weird, and he knew exactly why.

As if right on cue, Freddie walked onto the stage from the back and loudly announced his arrival. “Darlings, are we going to stand here until the show?” he teased, mostly to the fuming Brian.

“I hope your mic works, Fred,” he seethed, strumming his guitar with fervor. “What? Too hungover to make it to our soundcheck? Even Roger made it here early.”

At the mention of his name, Roger looked up from his snare which he was loosening up. He stood, aggressively throwing a drumstick at Brian. He heard Deaky laugh from the side of the stage. His laugh gave Roger a fluttery feeling in his stomach that he couldn’t quite decipher.

“Alright, then, children, let us commence,” Freddie urged without hesitation. Freddie has always had a knack for sensing emotion, for he was an emotional man himself, always wearing what he was feeling on his sleeve. He probably sensed the tension between _everyone_ at this point, and wanted to get this soundcheck done as soon as possible.

Roger, again, banged obnoxiously on his drums. “Let’s get on with it, how does our set start tonight?”

Brian glared at him over his shoulder. “Same as the past ten nights, _Rog_ ,” he answered with snarky undertones.

His reaction made Roger roll his eyes, and glance over to John in the process. He was bent down, fiddling with a large floor amp for his bass. He’s always been good with amps, back in the earlier days he would set them up for all of their gigs, before they had roadies or managers. Even still, such as right now, John couldn’t help himself as to check if they were all working properly.

That was _not_ why Roger continued to stare, however. John was bent over in _tight_ white pants that had a single stripe going up the center of each leg. The pants flared out at the calf, and Roger just couldn’t understand how he looked so good in those. They’re stupid looking pants.

Roger shook his head rapidly, turning his attention back to his drums, now beginning to understand that he _shouldn’t be staring_. Freddie looked over at him and cocked a thick eyebrow. “Roger, dear, we _do_ need our drummer,” he teased. Roger knew that he was being a shit, and glared back at him.

This was going to take awhile.

***

When they finally finished soundcheck, they all were thoroughly pissed at each other – _nay,_ Brian was pissed at everyone, and Roger was pissed at himself.

It began when they were running through _Flick of the Wrist_ and Roger began flubbing the drumming on the offbeat, which threw off John, which threw off Brian, which left Freddie a prancing, singing mess with a piano.

John and Roger were _supposed_ to be the rhythm section, the backbone of the band. Despite that, they were not in sync today. They were _never_ not in sync, but usually they hadn’t _traded sexual favors_ right before the day of a show.

Roger just _couldn’t_ look at John, not now. When he looked at him, all he remembered was the night before, and how he felt so _good_ when John was sucking him off.

He didn’t want to think about that.

At the end of the “soundcheck” (if you could even call it that – it felt like no actual _sound_ got _checked_ ), Brian stormed out, holding his Special Red in its case as he fled to god knows where. They usually left their instruments at the venue, but Brian probably thought that he could fix the problem if he became twice as good of a guitar player in six hours.

Freddie was pouting, not wanting _“the band to fall apart”_ the day of a performance. “Come on, Brian, darling!” he called after the fuming curly headed _control freak_.

Okay, maybe Roger was being out of line.

Right on cue, John walked up to Roger as he was trying to leave the venue without anyone stopping – or noticing – him.

“What the hell was that?” John quipped, no hesitation before his words. His tone was still light and calming, but Roger could tell he was concerned.

“What was what?” Roger countered, not meaning to play dumb, but ending up sounding like a careless idiot anyway. He tried to walk away, but John just followed him, never being one to give up easily.

John shook his head and sighed loudly. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, Rog, you weren’t picking up my cues, and not letting me pick up yours. The beat was off and the rhythm was _nonexistent._ ”

“ _Do_ I know what you are talking about?” Roger pushed back with his words, ceasing his walking and turning to face John for the first time that day. When he looked into his grey eyes, he saw a mix of concern, and a twinge of hurt, making Roger ashamed of himself. Why was he such an idiot? “I think we were just off today, that’s all,” he reasoned, quieter this time.

John grimaced, and blinked a couple times. “ _You_ were off today. Don’t you think I don’t know what this is about.”

“It’s not about anything,” Roger quickly assured, perhaps untruthfully. He turned and began his stride again, exiting the venue and began to attempt to wave down a taxi.

John, again, did not hesitate to follow him. “Don’t you think you’re being dramatic about this, Roger? No one _died.”_

The blond gritted his teeth together, and winced at the feeling it gave him. _No one died? My fucking heterosexuality died, John, and I’m not even upset about it._ “I’m being dramatic? Yeah, okay, mate. Never heard that one before.”

“You wouldn’t even look at me,” John insisted, quieter than before.

Okay, so, John noticed. Roger turned to him, the road behind him still heavy with the buzz of traffic. “Deaky, I am sorry–”

“I know you don’t mean to be so harsh, but really, it’s no big deal,” John tried again, stepping closer to Roger.

“I just don’t want Brian or Freddie or _anyone_ finding out,” Roger breathed, stepping towards John as well. It felt like they were magnets.

“I’m with you there, I’m the one that actually has a girlfriend.”

Roger’s nose turned up at the mention of Veronica. “Then we won’t let anyone find out.”

“Find out what?” John asked, feigning ignorance.

“Exactly,” Roger nodded, a smirk growing on his lips.

A taxi finally stopped at the curb, and Roger opened the back door of the vehicle.

John stepped to the car, putting his hand on the roof and looking at Roger as he got in. “You and I can’t play like that tonight, you know. Brian will kill us. I am not even pulling your leg on that.”

Roger hummed as a form of acknowledgement, and looked up at John as he sat on the cloth seats of the car. “Going back to the hotel?”

“Yeah.”

“Me too, left my clothes there and I don’t want to borrow a glittery leotard from Fred,” Roger explained. He motioned with his eyes that John should join him in the taxi.

John smiled, he fucking _smiled._ Innocently. _Innocently._ “Since we’re going to the same place.” He got into the taxi and closed the door, telling the driver which hotel before turning back to Roger as the car sped off into the traffic. “I have the leather jacket in my room, if you want to borrow that one.”

Roger knew why John was inviting him to his room, but he didn’t care. “The black one? I’ve been looking for that.”

John hummed softly in response.

They chatted idly on the way back to the hotel, facing each other and letting their legs get tangled beneath them in the cramped taxi. John’s heels were only the cherry on top to his lithe, long legs. The tension between them was unmistakable, it was a miracle that the driver didn’t notice.

When they stepped out of the car to walk up to John’s room, they were laughing about something that they had heard Brian say earlier, and Roger felt _so_ good knowing that John was still treating him like he normally would.

When they made it to John’s room, Roger burst through the door.

“Do you think Fred _knows_ he looks like a gay trapeze artist in those one pieces?” he pondered out loud.

“I think he knows how to make a good show,” John responded carefully, following him in and shutting the door, kicking off his platform boots gracelessly, almost falling on his backside.

Roger shook his head at himself, not even noticing John almost falling behind him. “I refuse to wear one,” he declared. “Where is that jacket?”

“In the small bag, here, I’ll get it,” John answered, walking towards it and bending over to pick the bag up.

Roger saw his opportunity, and didn’t use his brain to decide on his next move. This resulted in him making his way behind the brunet and trailing his hands up his thighs and stopping at his ass, groping John through his pants.

John practically jumped three feet in the air, spinning and pushing Roger out of his space. “What the _hell_ are you doing, Rog?” he asked, probably too harshly.

Roger just laughed, as if he was just bantering with a friend. “I can’t help myself, Deaks, you’re a tease,” Roger mused, grinning. He figured, if he had the hots for his bandmate, might as well amuse himself.

He expected John to tell him off, or kick him out. Instead, John simply rolled his eyes, a smile creeping on his lips. “Whatever. If sleeping with me will make you drum properly tonight, then I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Oh, are they playing a game now? “Deaky, come on, I wasn’t that bad.”

“Oh? You sounded like a child got a hold of your sticks, Rog.”

“Maybe you should get a hold of ‘em.” As soon as the words left Roger’s mouth, he realized how stupid he sounded.

Instead of recoiling or making fun of him for his idiotic one-liner, John stepped closer to Roger, putting an arm around his neck. Without his heels, he wasn’t so ridiculously tall anymore. Roger wouldn’t complain, though, the platforms made his legs look amazing.

“Is that what you want, Rog?”

John’s words were enticing, and Roger couldn’t help but place his hands on John’s hips and look back up at him.

“Yeah, Deaks, I’ll play well tonight, I swear,” Roger bargained playfully, his face so close to John’s that he could feel his breath.

John actually laughed, but was cut off when Roger pressed their lips together. It wasn’t as sloppy as the night before, given both were very sober. _Too sober._

Roger attempted to take control of the kiss, but John pulled away. “Are you trying to make yourself freak out, or something?”

Roger had no idea what he was referring to, until he noticed John’s hand on top of Roger’s chest, on his rapidly beating heart. _Oh._

“No, I just–” Roger cut himself off, before he could say anything else that was stupid. “I just wanted to kiss you.” Roger _hoped_ that didn’t sound as sheepish as he thought it did.

“Come here,” John said, unwrapping himself from Roger and pulling them both towards the bed. “Standing is no _fun_ way to kiss someone.”

Roger didn’t hesitate to push John down on the bed and climb on top of him. He almost lost his balance, but thankfully he didn’t. He situated his knee in between John’s thighs and looked down at him, not failing to notice the halo that his hair made when it fell around his head.

He leant down to kiss John again, placing his hands on either side of him. John wrapped his arms around Roger, putting a hand in his blond hair to hold him there longer. Roger kissed him deeper, parting his lips and letting his own tongue lick into John’s mouth, which made John hum against him.

They kissed like that for what was probably five minutes, until Roger pulled away slightly. “Wait, wait,” he muttered. “Are you okay with–”

“Going further?” John finished for him. “I think the real question is, are you?”

_Yes, god yes._ Roger was _so_ ready, which made him _really_ nervous. “I’m fine, Deaks,” he reassured, probably too confidently. “I was asking _you,_ though.”

“Oh, yeah,” John breathed, his timid voice almost breaking.

Roger grinned and pulled John up to kiss him again. “Then get _this,_ ” he emphasized, pulling on John’s black t-shirt, “off.”

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” John joked, fiddling with the hem of Roger’s own shirt, pulling it up almost above his naval.

Roger scoffed. “Fuckin’ tease.” He pulled off his own shirt before quickly – and probably too roughly–pulling off John’s. He didn’t seem to mind, though, and laughed quietly at Roger’s eagerness.

“You haven’t done this before,” John _said_ – it wasn’t a question. 

“Not with a bloke. You have?” Roger shot back, he wasn’t about to feel insecure alongside all the other juvenile emotions he was repressing.

John shook his head, which ended up being more comforting than condescending – only John could do that. “I know how it goes, though.”

“I’ve fucked girls,” Roger blurted out, trailing a hand down John’s skinny body, appreciating the lithe muscles and the prominent ribs. “In the–in the ass, I mean. I have done that.”

John said nothing back, but didn’t wait to kiss Roger again, tangling his hands in his hair. Roger kissed back gingerly, undoing John’s white pants and pulling them down.

They took their time undressing each other, like they _didn’t_ have to be back at the venue for a show in a few hours. John left love bites on Roger, and Roger worshiped John’s body slowly.

They were both achingly hard, but they couldn’t find it in them to care, only focused on each other’s bodies.

When Roger was giving John one of his now _many_ hickeys, John’s movements suddenly stopped as he quietly exclaimed, “Lube.”

Roger pulled his swollen lips from his skin. “I don’t have any.”

“I do,” John said, sitting up and walking to one of his cases, pulling out a clear bottle of transparent liquid.

Roger sat up and looked at John incredulously. “Why does little Deaky come on tour _stocked?_ ”

“Shut up _now_ , and you’ll still get to fuck me,” John bit back, a gentle smile still on his face nonetheless.

Roger didn’t say anything else, pulling John back to him by the waist. Roger _felt_ John’s hard dick against his own stomach, and he kissed along his collarbones, John trying to pull away from him while still holding the bottle.

“I’m not prepped, you know,” John mentioned lazily, opening the bottle in his hands.

“I got you, Deaks,” Roger grinned against him, snatching it from his hands. He was _waiting_ for this.

With John straddling his thighs, both of them still sitting upright, Roger coated his fingers in the lube. “This enough?” he asked, glancing up at the brunet with unsure eyes.

“Yeah, just start off–“ Before John could finish his sentence, Roger had slipped a finger in between his cheeks, and John’s breath hitched. “Yeah, okay,” he managed.

Roger slowly pushed the finger past the tight ring of muscle, not completely sure if he was doing it right when John didn’t have much of a reaction.

Seconds barely passed before John was demanding another. Roger obliged, adding another and thrusting them slowly in and out of John’s hole.

“Yeah… _yes,_ ” John breathed. His arms were loosely wrapped around Roger’s neck, and his back was arched in what seemed like pleasure, but Roger couldn’t tell.

“Am I doing this right?” Roger questioned, holding John’s hips in place with his free hand.

John hummed in reassurance, his eyes closed in concentration. “I think I’m good, Roger.”

“You _think_? That means you’re probably not,” Roger noted, slowly adding a third finger to John’s ass, almost making him lose control in his legs and topple onto Roger, but he didn’t. He gasped for air, like the wind got knocked out of him. “I’m not hurting you the day of a show, Freddie would kill me.”

“Not if — not if he doesn’t know it was you,” John tried to point out, but his words were jumbled together in a mess. “Oh! _I like that_ ,” he suddenly exclaimed when Roger curled his fingers towards himself.

A few minutes of John getting fingered left Roger ridiculously hard, and John writhing from _want_.

“Oh, god, Roger.” John sounded breathless. “I _need_ your cock.”

“Yeah. _Yeah,_ okay, Deaks.” Roger’s cock was practically throbbing beneath them, he was _so_ ready.

“Please, Rog,” John pleaded, _pleaded._ Roger didn’t even care if he couldn’t stand for the show later, he was going to fuck this man _so hard_.

Roger quickly pulled out his three fingers, greasy from the lube. The lack of pressure made John wince, and Roger leaned up to kiss him tenderly as an apology.

John normally wouldn’t like being manhandled, but when Roger flipped them over to get himself on top, he was so far gone that he didn’t care.

Roger grabbed the lube again to slick up his dick. He coated it nice and thoroughly, almost moaning at the feeling. _Damn,_ he was so fucking hard.

Situated between his thighs, Roger spread John’s ass open again, squeezing the cheeks as he did so. He pressed his dick against the slick rim of John’s hole, which didn’t _look_ too stretched from the fingering before, making Roger want to fuck him even more.

“The hell are you waiting for?” John quipped.

“Nothing,” Roger answered, and almost immediately pushed into John, receiving a high pitched groan from the man.

Roger was in awe at the feeling. It felt _amazing,_ better than any girl’s pussy, in his opinion. He wanted to screw into John, holding him down on the bed and not letting him get up until he has had his way with him, but he knew that would probably leave obvious evidence when John couldn’t stand for the show later.

“God, Deaks, can I move?” Roger moaned out. He was only about halfway inside of John, but it was still unbelievable.

John nodded weakly. “Yeah, _please_.”

Roger immediately started thrusting, slowly at first, but then a bit faster. He moaned lowly when he almost bottomed out, and gripped onto John’s hips, bringing them up to meet his thrusts.

John didn’t have an over the top reaction at first, which made sense. He has a dick up his ass.

“Aim _up,_ ” John breathed out.

Roger stopped his movements and looked down at him. “What?”

“Earlier, with your fingers – try, try aiming _up._ When you move,” John tried to explain.

Roger had no idea what John was talking about, but he felt like John knew more about this than he did, so he changed the angle of his thrusts like John requested.

At first, nothing happened. Roger kept moving in hips at that angle, though, and John ended up moaning _loudly_ , and arching up off the bed, making Roger slip out.

“ _Please,_ do that again,” John begged.

So, he did. Slipping his slicked up cock back in, he thrusted _wildly_ exactly where John told him to. “Oh, Jesus, Deaks, you won’t be able to _move_ when I’m done with you.”

John moaned lowly in response, his prostate being stimulated _again, and again._ “Please.” His voice sounded wrecked, Roger praised whoever was in charge up above that John didn’t sing too much.

He continued babbling, though. “I know you _love_ this. You are so _tight,_ John,” he groaned out, slowing his thrusts to pull out. “Get on your front.” It wasn’t a request, and John didn’t care. He did as he was told, getting on his elbows and knees, which were spread apart for Roger.

He pressed his cock back into John, and hissed at the feeling. _This_ was amazing. He completely bottomed out, which hitched a cry in John’s throat.

Roger leant down, so they were back-to-chest. “Wouldn’t it be _fun_ to see everyone’s faces when you can’t even _stand_ tonight? Because you’re so _wrecked?_ ” He breathed behind John, pulling his head up by his hair. He could have heard Roger just fine, but Roger wanted to send a message.

John didn’t respond, just making the sounds of heavy breathing as Roger spoke. When Roger started to move again, it left him rocking back and forth vigorously. He had to place a hand against the headboard to avoid being crashed against it.

Roger’s thrusts became deep and fast, one hand still in John’s hair and another on his skinny waist. “Oh, _oh, yes, baby,_ oh my god.” He was rambling now, his moans interrupting his words constantly.

“Rog,” John moaned out, the word seeming nothing more than a breath.

The bed was creaking obnoxiously beneath them, and John was flat against the bed at this point, his thigh split and knees bent.

“I had no idea,” Roger started, slowing his movements. “That you were this flexible.”

John said nothing, not even really understanding what Roger was saying. When he had sex with Veronica, he never understood why she was so _emotional_ and _out of it_ when they were fucking. Now, he knew.

“Faster, _please,_ Roger,” John cried out.

Roger didn’t wait to abide. He didn’t realize how close he was until this moment, where he felt a warm pool of pleasure just _waiting_ to be released. “I’m getting there.”

John put a hand behind himself, stopping Roger’s movements and forcing him to pull out. “Let me see you,” he requested quietly.

Roger’s movement was quick in turning John around on his back. He pulled one of his legs on his shoulder, and began thrusting madly into John.

John grasped his dick, and began jerking himself off, he _wanted_ to cum, he _needed_ to cum.

“John, Deaks, I’m gonna cum in you,” Roger warned.

“Do it.”

Roger didn’t need permission. Within seconds he released into John’s hole, moaning his name as he did so.

John had never felt _that_ before, and he thought that maybe he _liked it_ too much.

He didn’t have time to worry about that right now, because soon he was spilling his own ejaculate all over himself, arching his back as he came.

He moved his leg off of Roger’s shoulder, letting himself sprawl out on the bed, completely undone. He was sure his eyes were red and puffy, and he _knew_ that he had to get the cum out of his ass, but he didn’t want to move.

Roger gingerly pulled out, still resulting in a wince from John. He fell down flat on his back next to the brunet, their legs still tangled together. “We _have_ to do that again.”

John turned his head so fast, he felt like he got whiplash. “ _Again?”_ he asked, his voice timid.

“Not _today_. Later.”

“Oh.”

They stayed like that for awhile, just listening to each other breathe. It was comforting, and neither minded, until John spoke, sitting up.

“I need to shower.”

Roger sat up as well. “I’ll go with you.”

“No,” John responded, smiling anyway.

“Don’t you need help? You’re all crippled and _nasty_.”

John scoffed, pushing Roger over. “I feel fine, actually. Go to hell.”

Roger whistled, standing up. “Harsh!”

John stood up and headed for the shower. “I know.”

“You’re walking weird,” Roger tactlessly pointed out, meeting him in the bathroom.

“Your fault, then,” John replied, unbothered. He turned to face Roger, letting an arm snake around Roger’s neck.

Roger looked up at him, not hesitating to press a sloppy kiss to his lips.

John pulled away, and turned on the stream of water, stepping under it. “I have _semen_ all over me, Rog,” he playfully pointed out, watching the blond follow him.

“I can help with that.”

They ended up not traditionally “showering”, but Roger still insisting that he was “cleaning” when he spent minutes upon minutes fingering out his own ejaculate from Deaky. He _wanted_ to tell Roger that he was too sensitive for that, but he couldn’t deny that he _liked_ it when his fingers brushed over his prostate _over_ and _over_.

They barely did anything under the water other than touch each other, and it seemed like they couldn’t get enough.

When the water ran cold and they forced themselves to get out and get dressed, it didn’t deter them from relishing in the feeling of the other’s skin.

“You know, no one can find out about this,” Roger mentioned in between kisses.

“That just depends on if you play like you mean it tonight.”

Roger pulled away, “I am not joking, John.”

John shrugged and pulled on the rest of his clothes. “Neither am I.”

It was silent for a moment or two both of them getting dressed beside each other, until Roger spoke.

“How are you feeling?”

John’s pale face flushed at the question. “Fine, actually.”

“Good. You’re not walking like a baby anymore,” Roger teased.

“You better play well tonight or I’ll kill you before Brian gets the chance to.”

Roger put his hands up in defense from where he was putting on his sparkly converse. “That was only earlier today,” he explained. “Besides, I _know_ I’m fine now,” he added with a wag of his eyebrows.

John ignored Roger’s statement, and put on his boots. “I’m heading over to the venue. Don’t forget your stuff, the bus is there and we’re not coming back.”

“Do you think anyone would notice if I fucked you on the bus?”

John looked back, eyes squinting more than they usually did. “ _Yes.”_ His answer went without pushback.

Roger smiled anyway.

A real, genuine smile.

Needless to say, the show went perfectly that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good sex fixes almost everything, especially for Roger.
> 
> Please comment and let me know what you liked/didn't like, if you want. Or just drop a kudos if you haven't already.
> 
> I sound like a youtuber omg
> 
> Thanks for reading!!!!


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